


Doctors and Patients

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e20 Scars, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln doesn't want to be Indexed and he definitely doesn't want to get to know any SHIELD agents. Unfortunately, he doesn't get much say in the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctors and Patients

Laughter. Seriously. That is how Skye responds to his death grip on her arm. Traitor.

“You’re gonna be _fine_ ,” she says, pulling his fingers away. “Simmons is only _kind of_ horrible.”

“ _Skye_ ,” the one named Simmons says. She’s … okay, she’s a really tiny woman, but anyone who’s been to Afterlife knows looks can be deceiving. And she’s _SHIELD_. He can’t trust her. Almost as if she read his mind, she turns a 100 watt smile on him. “Lincoln, right? Skye’s told us so much about you.”

“Has she?” He doesn’t take Simmons’ offered hand. Instead he looks past her to Skye, who’s ducking her head sheepishly.

“You were kind of unconscious for a few days. I had to tell them _something_.”

He’s not gonna have this fight again, but it doesn’t change his attitude. He’d rather have died inside HYDRA than live inside SHIELD.

Skye slaps her hands down on Simmons’ shoulders from behind. “Okay, but you’re gonna be fine. Simmons is the best we’ve got, and I was mostly kidding about the horrible thing.” She leans around Simmons and in a stage whisper adds, “Just don’t let her keep you in bed for two weeks.”

“You had been _shot_ ,” Simmons yells, but Skye’s already so far out the door Lincoln’s not sure she hears. Simmons shakes her head at Skye’s antics and Lincoln kind of hates her in that moment because it’s impossible not to feel some connection to her. He’s been watching over Skye for weeks, but this woman’s been watching over her a lot longer.

“She was shot?” he asks.

Simmons purses her lips. “Twice. It was … very bad.” She taps a few keys on her tablet before holding it horizontally against her stomach. “I’ve been sent to add you to the Index. I understand you have some reservations about the process-”

“The kind where I don’t _want_ it.”

“I know,” she says tightly. “And I won’t say I agree with you, but I also don’t want this to be a painful process for you. So can we at least try to get along?” She holds out her hand again. “Jemma Simmons.”

He doesn’t trust her - doesn’t trust any of them - but Skye does. Enough that she came to them when he needed rescuing, and they actually did it. Besides, if he outright refuses, he has no doubt the kind act Simmons is selling will disappear.

“Lincoln Campbell.” He takes her hand and a bolt of static electricity shoots through his palm, all the way up to his elbow. “Not me!” he says, lifting his hands in a show of no ill will. “And I don’t get to say that often.”

She doesn’t seem entirely convinced, if the twist to her mouth is any indication, and honestly, neither is he. She’s shaking her hand pretty hard for someone who only got a mild shock. He flexes his fingers. He has been feeling a little overcharged ever since waking up, maybe some of it slipped out.

“If you’d like,” she says, avoiding the subject entirely, “I can darken the windows, give you some privacy.”

He weighs his options. Privacy, he likes. He’s not a fan of the glances and outright stares he’s been getting ever since he woke up. But he hasn’t heard good things about Indexing. It might be a good idea to keep those windows open in case … Yeah, what’s he thinking? That one of these SHIELD agents is gonna rush in and save him if Simmons starts cutting into him?

“That’d be great,” he says with a forced smile. He watches her instead of the steadily darkening glass (if it even _is_ glass), not wanting to miss whatever she might pull on him.

She babbles while she prepares, explaining that SHIELD is simply opening a file on him, one that will never be opened unless he hurts people. As if he believes that.

Her gloves snap when she pulls them on, sending a chill of reactionary fear through him. “The doctors at HYDRA managed to cut into you before we got there-”

“Oh, is that why there’s a stabbing pain in my side?” He means for it to be a reminder that he’s not a willing participant in all this, but Simmons looks genuinely stricken.

“Does it hurt badly?” she asks, hurrying to him. She checks the IV and then her tablet. “They should’ve given you another shot of painkillers an hour ago. It’s on the chart.” She bites her lower lip, obviously worried.

“They did,” he says quickly. “I was just making a joke.”

She sags in relief. “Right, a joke. Funny.” Her smile looks at least a little genuine, and he hates himself for being relieved. “I’m going to take a look at the wound, make sure the stitches haven’t pulled and that there’s no internal damage we’ve missed. I’d also like to do another scan of your heart before you go.”

“My heart?” His chest’s a little sore, but he didn’t think it was that serious.

“Skye didn’t tell you?” Simmons rolls her eyes. “Apparently your heart stopped while at the base. Skye used her powers to restart it, which, while effective, was far more dangerous than simply applying CPR. I’d like to ensure there’s been no damage.”

Skye _restarted his heart_? He knew she’d be powerful but that’s incredible.

He hasn’t missed Simmons’ disapproval though. “You’re afraid she hurt me? Just because it’s a new way of doing it?”

The disapproval doesn’t fade. In fact, it intensifies. “I think there is a huge difference between the sheer force necessary to knock down a roomful of enemy combatants and the delicate work of manipulating organs. And restarting a heart is always a traumatic event. Making it more so when there are other, less dangerous options, is foolhardy. She could have destroyed the organ, making it impossible to resuscitate you through more conventional means. And you are not Skye.” Her eyes slip shut for a brief moment and open on a wince. “Sorry. Skye’s been so worried about you, I haven’t exactly gotten the chance to talk to her about this yet.”

He feels like he should defend Skye - Simmons will never understand them or their world, no matter how hard she might try - but he can’t fault her for caring and so keeps quiet instead.

Simmons forces a smile. “Your side?”

He lifts the edge of the hospital gown they’ve got him in and she bends over for a closer look. Her gloves are warm against his bare skin. She’s apologetic but determined as she examines the area, pressing into his abdomen gently to feel that everything’s in the right places.

The echocardiogram to check his heart is worse. He’s gotta lie on his uninjured side and shakes from the effort when she helps ease him over. Her hand is firm on his shoulder, holding him steady, and she sits on the bed herself, using her hip so he doesn’t have to keep himself up.

“Tell me about your powers, Lincoln.” She says it with this kindness that tugs at him. He does his best to keep things vague, to avoid details, but talking distracts from the pain he's feeling. He tells her about going through the mist, about the struggle to control his powers, how long it took him before he was able to even wear a watch again. She laughs when he tells her about Skye’s popcorn idea. “That sounds like Skye,” she says with so much fondness he almost forgets to hate her.

He’s not sure when it happens, but when she eases him onto his back again, she has to pull her hand out from under his on his shoulder.

She helps him get his gown back on straight, which he definitely needs. His lungs burn and his side feels like it’s been cut open all over again. He kind of wishes he hadn’t told her they already gave him another dose of painkillers.

“Everything looks fine.” She pats his arm reassuringly, giving him that brilliant smile again to show she’s proud of how he endured. He doesn’t want it. He’s glad when she finally gets up and starts typing away on her tablet again. “I would like to do another check in a few weeks, but I don’t imagine that will be possible.”

“No,” he says coldly, “it probably won’t.”

She hums to herself, barely even hearing his answer. He wonders if it matters. He’s being Indexed. She’s creating the file _right this minute_. For the rest of his life, he’s going to be looking over his shoulder, waiting for the day SHIELD shows up to drag him in. If Simmons really wants to do that follow-up, there’s nothing to stop her.

“You know, there’s something else you might wanna know.” He shouldn’t say it. It’s a possible advantage. But all he’s done so far is _talk_ about his powers. He’s kind of hoping if he shows her something, it’ll freak her out, get him some revenge for the pain she just put him through. Plus, he does have that overcharged feeling he’d like to burn off.

Her head turns in his direction, but only barely. Her focus is still all on that tablet. Good.

He struggles to lift his head to see the far end of the room. Supplies are set up there, waiting to be used, including a nice, shiny set of instruments probably meant to inspire fear in the hearts of poor Inhumans who wake up here. He shoots a narrow bolt at the tray.

Simmons, hearing the crackle in the air, turns sharply and finds him holding a ball of lightning between his fingers. “Extraordinary,” she breathes. Her face lights up in a grin and a few of her hairs stand on end as she bends nearer. She doesn’t even notice the forceps hovering closer.

He’s never actually been able to hold something up this long without touching it and there’s a headache building behind his eyes from the strain.

“Do you mind if I get a reading of the charge’s strength?” Simmons asks. She doesn’t even give him time to answer before turning away and nearly runs right into the forceps.

From his spot on the bed, he can just see the shocked expression on her face - definitely worth the effort - and drops the charge, feeling better than he has all day. The forceps spark and fall to the ground, but Simmons doesn’t move. He pushes himself up onto his elbows to get a better look. She’s got one hand pressed to her chest and her gaze is fixed on the ground. He was expecting her to freak out a little, not go catatonic on him.

“Simmons?” he asks. That spurs her into motion, but not the good kind. She stumbles away until she‘s almost to the wall, keeping a fair distance between herself and the forceps.

“Oh my God.” It sounds kind of like a sob. She drags in a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’mfineI’mfineI’mfine.”

“Yeah,” Lincoln says slowly, “people who say it that much usually aren’t.”

She _definitely_ isn’t fine. Her breath is coming in too short gasps. She’s frighteningly pale. When she presses her hands to her face and feels the tears there, she collapses to the ground, descending into full on sobs.

Lincoln curses. He may not like SHIELD or Simmons, but just sitting here and watching a woman cry isn’t something he can do.

Getting out of the bed isn’t easy. Besides just moving, he’s gotta get the IV out of his arm and shut off the heart monitor or risk bringing a whole team in here. It’s a miracle he makes it to Simmons at all, and he practically falls on her when he tries to sit next to her.

She leans into him by degrees. He rubs a hand up and down her back, whispering empty, soothing words. He has no idea what’s brought this on, but there’s no way this is all a reaction to his prank.

It’s a long time before she stops. He’s freezing from the hard floor and his side aches, but she’s a warm weight against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice thick.

“It’s okay. Sounded like you needed it.” He’s still running his hand over her back, not sure why he hasn’t stopped. “You wanna talk about it?”

Her hair brushes his face as she shakes her head. “No. No, I-” She stiffens in his arms. “You shouldn’t be out of bed! Oh no. You’ve probably pulled your stitches.” She’s up and dragging him after her in seconds. She’s surprisingly strong for her size and has him back in bed before he can think to reassure her.

He’s _fine_. It may have been stupid to go to her, but he’s not stupid enough to pull his stitches. She’s visibly relieved when she confirms he’s okay. She doesn’t have that 100 watt smile anymore, but it’s still just as powerful in its own, vulnerable way.

He doesn’t press her about whatever’s bothering her because he _can’t_. Holding her while she cried was a mistake. If he finds out more, if he sees her as a _real person_ , hating her will be impossible.

“How do I look?” she asks after she’s cleaned herself up.

“Beautiful.” He winces at the slip and some of the color returns to her cheeks. “What I mean is, you look fine. No one out there’ll know.”

“Good.”

Skye’s hovering just outside the door when Simmons turns the windows transparent again. She rushes right in to check on him, a welcome distraction from Simmons' departure.

He’s beyond grateful Simmons didn’t want to talk about her troubles when Skye tells him just what she’s been up to, what she's got planned for Afterlife. He definitely can’t afford to see these people as anything other than the badge they all bear.


End file.
